


Mereth

by nossraiths



Series: Wood and Water [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Bardolas, Drinking & Talking, Drinking to Cope, M/M, bard is smitten, legolas is an ice princess, sad party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-09 10:54:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1145125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nossraiths/pseuds/nossraiths
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You are too generous, Lord Bard,” Legolas told him. “Would you like a moment with your wife?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mereth

“What are you doing.”

Bard did not turn around; he knew the voice as well as the silence that had preceded it, and the quiet creaking of new-cut boards beneath light feet.

“Drinking,” he replied, lifting the flask to his lips.

“Have you been drinking very long, Lord Bard?” Legolas asked, setting his bow and quiver in the empty chair.

“I have seen the great rafts of empty barrels from the woodland halls, Master Elf,” Bard answered, “Do not presume to judge me in my indulgence.”

“Unlike yourself, we drink for merry purpose,” Legolas told him, “Black indeed is the mire of your thoughts tonight.”

“It is Tilda’s eighth birthday today,” Bard said, the drink hot and sour in the back of his throat. “Eight years today since my wife passed.”

Legolas sat on the edge of the window across the room with his arms folded across his chest. He said nothing, and words fell bitter as bile from Bard’s mouth.

“I was on the water when I had the news. I left the cargo with Percy: ten barrels of salt-fish. He congratulated me on my third child.

“She was gone so quickly. The midwife was a friend, but we hadn’t the money for a healer and the Master was generous with neither wealth nor services.

"In the end, Legolas, I could not afford to save my own wife.” 

“It is not the money that grieves you now,” Legolas said quietly. “Nor entirely is it the loss of your wife.”

“A glad day is blackened with grief,” Bard told him. “Am I a poor father, to mourn my wife on Tilda’s day?”

“Your wife would not find you at fault for celebrating life, Lord Bard,” Legolas replied. “No one may grieve forever, and the heart is quicker to joy than sorrow.”  

"Your words are cold comfort, Legolas,” Bard said. His flask was nearly empty.  “What do your kind know of sorrow?”  

“I have watched my father mourn my mother,” Legolas replied. “The lives of Men are too short to spend in the shadow of grief.”  

“How was she?” Bard asked, and Legolas tucked his chin to his chest.

“All I have of her is the name she gave me,” he answered, “She was killed by a band of orcs in the Grey Mountains in the winter of my birth.”

“I am sorry,” Bard said at last, looking down at his hands.

“Do not be,” Legolas replied, “I cannot lament someone I never knew. You are fortunate to have the memories of your wife, Lord Bard, and her image in your children.”  

“When I am gone,” Bard said, “Will you think it fortunate then, when the memories and sorrow are your own?”  

“I would be sorrier still not to know you,” Legolas answered. “Though you are dismal company indeed when you drink the Dwarves’ cheap rotgut.”  

“What is your purpose in coming here tonight, Legolas?” Bard asked, “If it is not for my own fine company nor my drink?”

“It is the nineteenth day of _Narwain_ ,” Legolas replied, “In my father’s youth it was a time to spend with loved ones, and our people still honor the old holidays.” The tips of his ears were blush-pink, though no sign of discomfort showed on his face. All the heat drained from Bard’s temper.

“I am honored, Legolas,” he said. “What of your father and Tauriel?”

“Since it concerns you,” Legolas answered, “Tauriel and I were on patrol together, and my father requested my company early in the evening. Shall I leave you for the night with your foul drink and your black thoughts?”

“Not all of my thoughts are black,” Bard replied. “Come, you may lead me to bed.”

“You are too generous, Lord Bard,” Legolas told him. “Would you like a moment with your wife?” He pushed away from the wall and collected his bow and quiver.

“Thank you,” Bard said through a tight throat. Legolas’s smile played briefly across the corners of his mouth and eyes before disappearing entirely from his smooth Elvish face.

“ _No veren_ , Bard,” he answered, and disappeared through the shadowy doorway of Bard’s bedroom. 

~~~ 

Legolas was sitting on the edge of the bed binding back his hair; Bard caught his quick fingers and Legolas’s eyes gleamed like quicksilver in the moonlight.

“Not so low-spirited as before,” he said with satisfaction, “I am glad to see it.”

“I would be sorry as well if we had never met,” Bard told him, “I must ask your forgiveness for my harsh words.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” Legolas replied. "Now come to bed. You'll have enough to suffer through in the morning." 

Bard lay down in bed and clung to Legolas like a raft, holding his head above the waters of grief through the long dark hours of the night.              

**Author's Note:**

> If no one else will write it, then I will sail the written Bardolas ship with my crew of one. 
> 
> Also I am the master of No One Actually Has Sex In My Stories; if you want it, write it for me because I can't. 
> 
> "Mereth" (title) is the Elvish word for festival. 
> 
> "Narwain" is the Elvish month of January according to AnnalsofArda.dk (thank you, Internet resources) and the holiday is made up because I needed it. 
> 
> "No veren" is Sindarin for "Be joyous" and comes from "Useful Phrases" at Arwen-Undomiel.com


End file.
